


I want to know our final fate.

by destielpasta



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Courtroom Drama, Domestic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Kissing, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15078770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielpasta/pseuds/destielpasta
Summary: June escapes to Canada with her unborn child and Hannah. Some months later, a familiar face re-enters her life. She learns that families change, and sometimes stay the same.*****Canon divergent from episode 2.10, except Nick and June never went to see Hannah at the end of the episode. This one has a happy ending.





	1. Prologue: Extraction

**Author's Note:**

> Another Nick/June centric fanfic. This one starts out angsty, but I promise there is a happy ending in store for them. The prologue is from Nick's point of view and then it shifts to June for the next two parts. Thank you for reading!

_ “Get down.” _

_ She’s wearing a cloak for a Martha, but I don’t trust that. It doesn’t cover that she’s pregnant. Doesn’t cover that she’s wearing a red dress. I move my seat up so she can compress herself into the space between the back seat and the front. _

_ “How far are we from the checkpoint?” she asks, voice low.  _

_ “Ten minutes,” I say. I should say more. What do you say now? _

_ I love you. I’ll miss you. I’ll never forget you. _

_ All seemed pretty repetitive. The letter burning a hole in my pocket would take care of that later.  _

_ She had asked me a question, the day the Martha had been shot in the street. “But what about you?” I hadn’t answered her then.  _

_ I grip the steering wheel. _

_ “June?” _

_ I reach my hand back blindly, she finds it. Takes it with two of her own. She’s warm.  _

_ I’ll answer her now. _


	2. Contraction

**_10 months later_ **

 

When Hannah’s school calls, I speed there, still on the phone with the nurse. 

“Ms. Osborne, there’s really no need for you to come here, I just need permission to give Hannah a few cough drops to carry around today in case she gets a cough–”

“It’s no problem, I’m coming.”

I drive like a madwoman. The refugee center always cautions against it. 

_ Welcome to Canada! Please try to not get a speeding ticket! It’s one thing we haven’t figured out yet and the Canadian Police get testy about it! _

I was still in my red dress the first time they told me. Seemed a little insensitive. Where was I driving to at that point?

I don’t get pulled over. I find a parking spot at Hannah’s school and rush in, heading straight for the Nurse’s office. 

She’s sitting on the same type of brown pleather cot I sat on in school, swinging her legs.

“Hi Honey, you ok?” I squat down in front of her. 

The nurse tries to interject. “She really is ok, just a dry throat–”

“I had a cough in class,” Hannah says.

I nod, taking her hand and standing up. “I would just be more comfortable if I could have her doctor take a look at her. Do I sign her out here?”

Hannah’s small for her age, she still needs one of those booster car seats. She hates it, but takes it better if I let her strap herself in. We drive to the clinic. She doesn’t cough once. Instead she tells me about a science project she’s doing in school. 

The clinic is crowded and stuffy. I want to take off my winter coat, but I shoulder my way to the front desk first, gripping Hannah’s hand. 

“Hello,” I say, putting on my best  _ grateful to be here _ smile. “We need to see the doctor. My daughter has flu symptoms. 

The clerk looks down at my daughter, rosy cheeked and clearly not sick with the flu. 

“Do you have her health card?”

“Yes.”

I rummage in my bag for the thin card I was given for the national health plan, reprinted to have mine and Luke’s names on it. 

He looks at it, frowning. “I’m sorry, we’re now requiring that children over five be issued their own card.”

“What?” I adjust my bag from where it’s falling off my shoulder. “We were told one card was enough for families.”

“I know,” he says, looking exhausted. How many people has he had to give this shpiel to today? “New rules just set into effect this week. You’ll have to go to the immigration office.”

He sends me on my way, a crisp insurance card request form in one hand and my daughter’s in the other. I buckle her back into her seat. 

We’re already halfway to the immigration office when she asks “Mommy, can I go home?”

Hannah gets whatever she wants these days. I wonder when I’ll have to put that to a stop. Not today. 

I drop her off back at home with Moira, leaving a note for Luke about the new insurance rules. Moira was there watching Holly, who sleeps soundly in her nip-nap. 

I head to the immigration office inside the refugee center. I don’t spend much time there, compared to Moira who found a job there. It’s the same office where they process new refugees. I see a lot of shell-shocked eyes sitting at desks, getting handed their new life. I remember the feeling. 

“Hi,” I say to the receptionist at the benefits counter, “I went to the clinic with my daughter and they said that she needs her own insurance card?”

“Huh,” she says, no more than twenty and already panicking that something was expected of her. Her fingers clack loudly on her keyboard. “What’s her date of birth?”

I give her more information. Hannah’s name. Her old social security number. My old social security number. Street address. A call to the clinic. A few terse words from me. 

And then he’s there. 

He’s sitting at a folding table with his hands in his lap. He’s stiff, his mouth tense. The light reflects off something metallic: handcuffs around his wrists. 

The receptionist asks me something else. Sets a form in front me. Hands me a pen. I hold it the wrong side up. 

Same hair, same dark clothes, like he had stepped out of my mind. The handcuffs are new. 

A uniformed officer sits at the desk beside him, along with an immigration agent, as if Nick Blaine had been caught shoplifting or tagging a building wall. 

His eyes flick up, he sees me. 

I turn away. I fill out the form to get my daughter an insurance card. I receive a temporary card. I thank the clerk, and leave. 

He doesn’t call for me. He never could before, I guess it’s a hard habit to kick. 

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

Luke holds Holly over his shoulder, burping her over by the sink. He uses a dish towel as a burping cloth; he knows I hate that. 

I pace around, picking up Hannah’s toys and books. She had gone to bed early. 

“Hannah has the science fair next week,” I say, throwing a few stuffed animals into a plastic bin. “Her teacher said she picked the volcano.”

Luke smiles, lifting Holly up to smile at her. “You know what, peanut? Back in my day we had to come up with our own projects.”

I run my hand through my hair, getting it out of my face. “Back in your day you hadn’t gone through an advanced trauma.”

Luke frowns, another attempt at humor failed. My stomach twists.

“June,” he starts. 

“I can take her.” I take Holly and rock her slowly. 

“June—“

“I can pick up the baking soda, Lord knows I can’t bake for shit so there’s none here—“

“June.”

“Yeah?” I turn. I don’t want to hear it. But I will. 

“Go see him.”

I sneer. I can tell it’s an ugly look. “Don’t tell me what to do.” I point at him with Hannah’s Shopkins toy. 

Luke deflates. I’m guilty. 

“I just think it would be good for you to go see him.”

It’s been a while since I talked to Sue at the refugee center. She had helped sometimes. Handmaid group therapy. 

_ You’ll snap at the people you love for a while. You’re just letting out all the anger you’ve had to repress.  _

I kiss Holly’s head. 

What is the definition of “a while?”

Luke sighs. He does that a lot lately. 

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

Former Gilead officials are housed in an older Ontario prison, since closed for Canadians but open to Sons of Jacob, former or otherwise. The prison parking lot is almost empty. Not too much demand for visitors, I’m guessing.

Prison rules: No touching. One hug. Hands on the table.

Nick doesn’t look good in orange. So check that off the list. A guard sets him I front of me, a rectangular table between us. 

We don’t take advantage of the hug option. Nick looks at me, eyes wide. 

“June.”

I swallow, knocking my fist on the table lightly. “When’s your trial date? Do you get a public defender? I can try to talk to someone at the refugee center—“

He purses his lips. I stop talking. 

“How is she?”

I’m not going to make it. I’m going to burst. I feel my seams unraveling. Holly’s still inside me and Serena’s hands are on my belly. 

“Holly,” is all I can manage. “It’s my mother’s name.”

He smiles. “That’s nice.” 

“How did you know she was a girl?”

He shrugs. “That’s what you thought, before.”

Words change meaning all the time. ‘Before’ used to be the time before I was a Handmaid, now it was the opposite. 

I shake my head. I won’t get sucked in. We have to focus. 

“Why did they charge you?”

“Gilead keeps records. They’ll know I was a part of first wave. I just sped up the process.”

What a fucking idiot.

“You turned yourself in?” 

He raises his eyebrows. Jesus Christ. 

“But Mayday—“

“The Americans here are split on Mayday. They don’t trust them. Not after Ofglen’s bomb.”

“What about bail?”

“No bail for terrorists.”

“For fucks sake.” I bite my lip. “So they’re just going to string you up? And you’re going to let them?”

He smiles, looking like he wants to start laughing. “Canada doesn’t have the death penalty.”

I slap my hand on the table, my face heating. “It’s not funny!”

“It’s not,” he agrees, “It’s just nice to see you, June.”

My breath hitches. Everyone says my name now. I hear it from Luke and Moira and the barista at Starbucks. 

For a while it was only him. 

I look up at the lights, my eyes heating. “They didn’t question me when I got here.”

“You were a Handmaid. I’m a pre-war member of the Sons of Jacob.”

“What if I tell them you were the one who got me out?”

“You can try. Still a Mayday connection.”

“I will try.”

His eyes sparkle. As if I had just told him there was tuna at Loaves and Fishes. 

“How are you?” 

I sit back in the chair. 

How am I? 

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

I tell him about Holly. It’s as safe as any conversation can be between us. I tell him how she smiled at me the other day when I let her have off-brand Cheerios. How she laughs when Hannah dances to old 80s music. How her favorite place to sleep is right with me. 

I don’t tell him that she has thick, dark brown hair that’s starting to curl. Or that Luke treats her like his own. 

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he says. 

I didn’t say that. 

I try another question again. “How did you get out?” 

He drums his fingers on the table. “I shot Waterford.”

“You—“ my breath catches. “You, what?”

“I shot him in the back.” His eyes are serious. 

“I—“ I stutter. “How?”

“With my gun.”

“Nick.”

His smile is small. It’s the first time I had said his name out loud. 

“Serena was out. He called me into his office. I shot him while he stood by the window.” 

I feel Serena’s hands around my wrists. Waterford’s grunts in my ears. 

“Is he dead?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I left.”

I look down at my hands. “Why would you do that?”

I can feel his eyes on me. 

“I didn’t have anything to lose. At the time.”

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

“This is the case of Nick Blaine versus the United States of America. You may be seated.”

_ Why?  _ I had asked while we’d laid on the couch in the old Boston Globe office.  _ Why did you get involved with me? _

“Nick Blaine is charged with committing and conspiring to commit terrorist attacks against the United States of America.”

He hadn’t answered at first. He never did. Always thinking, always modulating, picking out the best words possible. 

_ I couldn’t stop trying to make you feel good. The first time you smiled at me… I couldn’t stop.  _ Then he buried his face against my arm.  _ But now… _

He hadn’t said it that night. He had waited until after he was married for that. But it hadn’t been necessary. 

It’s an old charge. Cecilia, the lawyer who had taken my deposition, had said it was hard to charge him with anything, because technically Gilead was not the United States, and the only crimes that could be tried were the ones committed in the time before. 

The first witness is a representative from the immigration office. I recognize him, he had helped me get Hannah signed up for school. Jim, his name is. He had been sitting at the desk the day Nick arrived here.

They submit documents. Pieces of paper that confirm Nick’s membership to the Sons of Jacob, evidence that he was a member of the elusive Eyes. Jim talks through each document they were able to recover, stating that Nick’s primary purpose was transportation and security, with little participation in actual execution or guardian work. 

It’s technical. They can tell you where Nick was and what he was doing, but not why. 

“The prosecution calls June Osborne to the stand.”

The bench is hard, but not as hard as my old bed in Waterford’s house. I shift back and forth. Then I stop. Don’t want to look flighty. 

“June,” the prosecutor starts, an old and tired looking man. ”How did you meet Nick Blaine?” 

“We lived in the same house in Gilead.” True. But vague. 

“And what was your role in the household?”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I see Luke hold his head up in the audience. 

“I was a Handmaid.”

There’s a murmur from the seats. There’s still a lot of mystery surrounding the handmaids.

“When did you leave Gilead?”

“Almost 10 months ago.”

“What was the nature of of your relationship with Nick Blaine, while in Gilead?”

I swallow. “He was my friend. We… he took care of me in that house.”

“Would you say your relationship was merely friendly?”

“Objection, counsel is leading the witness.”

The judge sustains it. Asks for the lawyer to reword his question. 

“I apologize, June. Were there other dimensions to your relationship?”

I look at Nick. His expression is unreadable.

“We had sex. Yeah.”

The lawyer smiles, pleased with himself in making me look like a slut. Some things never change. 

“Thank you, Ms. Osborne. Did Blaine ever discuss the Sons of Jacob with you?”

I smirk. “Considering the Sons of Jacob is now Gilead, no, he didn’t discuss it. Would seem a bit derivative, right?”

The lawyer pauses, gripping the side of his podium. Nick lowers his head; I can see his smile.

“Of course,” the lawyer says, looking annoyed. “You’ll have to forgive us. We are still learning about life in Gilead.”

I nod. 

“What was Blaine’s role in the household?

The questions continue, mostly expository.  _ Who _ , _ What _ , and  _ Where _ questions. Sometimes he gets into the  _ Why _ , prompting the Defense to object. Luke’s eyes are on me the whole time, and it’s stupid of me to be uncomfortable. Where else would he look? Where else would he be?

I snap back to attention when it’s the defense’s turn. Nicks’ lawyer holds a cheat sheet of questions that she sets on the podium with care. Shes young, a public defender that used to be from Florida, Nick had said. I wonder how much life she had lived in Gilead. She adjusts her glasses before beginning. 

“Thank you for being here today, Ms. Osborne.”

If I hear that name one more time. 

I smile. Nod. 

“Please tell us, how did you leave Gilead?”

The prosecutor stands. “Objection, relevance? The witness’s own escape has nothing to do with the defendant’s crimes.”

“Your honor, the prosecution saw fit to ask when Ms. Osborne left Gilead. Clearly they thought it had some relevance then.”

The judge overrules the objection. The attention turns back to me.

“Ms. Osborne, same question.”

_ I’m going to get out, Jun _ e _. It just can’t be today. _

“Ms. Osborne?”

_ I’m not going to die here. _

Nick had spoken about himself that night. Had spoken about himself  _ with hope _ . The movements of the car had jostled me, but his hand had been firm in mine while he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” I say, snapping out of it, trying to forget the last moment, the last desperate kiss.

She smiles at me. “It’s ok. We have the room booked for the day.”

That gets a nervous laugh from the room, and the tension eases, somewhat. 

I take a deep breath. 

“It was a week before I gave birth to my daughter, Holly. I woke up in the middle of the night to a knock on my door. Nick came into my room and told me to stay quiet. He gave me one of Rita’s–  the Martha in the house– cloaks.”

I look at Nick, but his head is in his hands. 

“He took me outside. There was a car outside, one I hadn’t seen before. Nick had…” What will make him look good? “Drugged the guards. We got into the car.”

I take a sip of offered water.

“We drove through the night. He got me to a checkpoint, left me with another party of people crossing the border. Marthas, mostly.”

_ You have to go. June, I’ll be alright. I promise. _

“They hid me in the middle of them. We crossed the border in the middle of the night. My daughter Hannah was waiting there for me.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Seems like a pretty easy escape for a pregnant Handmaid. Did anything else happen?”

Leading question. The prosecution doesn’t object. 

“No,” I say, shifting in my seat. “I honestly don’t know how he did it.”

She nods. “Did you ever see or hear from him again?”

He had written the note on Waterford’s stationary. Intentionally or not, that detail had made me laugh when I found the note in my pocket. 

“He left me a letter.”

The lawyer folds her hands on the podium. “Would you mind sharing what was in the letter?”

“It was personal.”

She pauses. “The letter was submitted into evidence, your honor,” she says to the judge.  “We would very much appreciate it if June would share the contents of it herself, however.”

I had never been at a trial before. This didn’t seem normal. More like a TV trial. Even on the TV, at this point the prosecution would insist that this was situational, character information that should be saved for the sentencing, not the trial, but the prosecutor sits forward in his chair, attentive, unobjecting. 

Nick looks at me, his eyes dark. He’d never give me permission to do anything. Behind him, Luke looks on, jaw tense. 

I fold my hands in my lap, like Aunt Lydia taught me. 

“He told me he loved me,” I say, “He told me I was the best decision he’d ever made. He told me to love our baby for him,” there’s a gasp from the crowd, a stupid, annoying gasp. “He said he’d burn down Gilead, if he could.”

She folds her paper. “Thank you, no further questions.”

The bailiff helps me down from the stand. I take my seat next to Luke. I don’t look at him, but his arm appears around my shoulders. 

They call Nick. 

“Where are you from?”

“Michigan.”

“When did you join the Sons of Jacob?”

“2014.”

“Why did you join?”

“They offered to help pay for my Father’s surgery if I drove for them.”

I close my eyes. 

_ Is that your brother? In the picture? _

_ Come back to bed, June. _

“What did you know about the attacks on Washington D.C.?”

“I wasn’t high enough up the chain to know about them.”

“Did you participate in those terrorist attacks?”

“No. I was a driver for the Commanders.”

He talks like a soldier. He doesn’t have a chance. 

“How did you leave Gilead?”

He shifts in his seat. “In a car.”

Fucking idiot. 

The judge leans forward. “Mr. Blaine, you do realize that you’re on trial for terrorism?”

Nick nods. “Yes sir.”

His lips are pursed, as if I was kneeling in front of Serena and Fred, getting ready to be raped. He always had to watch that part. 

_ These trials are difficult _ , Cecilia had said, _ We’re trying to save what remains of our criminal justice system, but the problem is it doesn’t work in these cases. So much is based on character.  _

Nick gives one or two word answers, at most. The prosecutor avoids questions about me, I make him look too good. When it’s his own lawyer’s turn, she has no questions. 

The jury breaks for recess. I stand and walk out. 

“June,” Luke calls after me. I ignore him and instantly feel guilty, but oh well. 

The air is freezing outside, and I didn’t wear the right coat. 

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

Luke is a witness of the defense, and he goes first the next day. Moira sits with me, her arm linked with mine.

“Please State your name for the court.”

Luke leans forward. 

“Luke Bankole.” 

Nick’s lawyer stands a little straighter today, after she successfully questioned me the day before. Had she been as satisfied with Nick’s performance on the stand?

“And what is your relationship to the client?”

Luke describes the scene he had set for me a thousand times. Nick, walking timidly into a Canadian dive bar to tell him that he knew me. That I was ok. Pregnant, but ok. 

“We would like to submit the following evidence. Two hundred and twenty-four letters, given to Mr. Bankole by Nick Blaine.”

She submits the letters, and the judge approves. 

What are we even trying him for anymore? Are you a good guy or a bad guy, Nick Blaine? How many people did you try to save? How much did you help versus hurt? 

Luke does his best, and I love him for it. 

“Blaine risked his life to give me the letters,” He says. “He gave me the only news I ever got about my wife, the American government couldn’t even do that.”

Moira whispers to me the whole time. 

“They don’t have anything on him. I don’t know how they could. This whole trial blows.”

The prosecution doesn’t cross-witness. They don’t call me again. That’s it for Nick’s witnesses. The jury adjourns to deliberate. 

Moira buys me a hot dog from a stand outside. I give it to Luke and tap my foot furiously instead. 

The jury only takes a half hour to come to a decision. I can’t remember if that’s a good thing or not. 

Nick stands when it comes time to read the decision. He turns and looks at me, nodding. Reassuring me. 

I want to puke. 

“We the jury find the defendant, Nick Blaine, on charges of terrorism against the United States of America, not guilty.”

*  
*  
*  
*  
*  


Two hours later, Nick sits on my couch. I’m in the kitchen, opening cupboards and closing them as If I have something to do. Moira chats him up, filling the silence, but he doesn’t say much. Luke comes out of our room, holding a drowsy Holly. 

I hear Nick’s breath catch.

“Hey,” Nick says, the smile audible in his voice. 

Luke says all the nice things I should be saying. He sets Holly in Nick’s arms and tells him he can visit anytime. That he can see Holly whenever he wants. That he could stay with us if he has to.  

“Thank you,” Nick says, looking down at his daughter. “I can’t, but thank you.”

I watch from the kitchen, a dish towel hanging from my hands. Nick looks up at me. His eyes are shining. 

“June?”

Enough. 

I drop the towel and head for the door. The sobbing comes when I hit the hallway. 

_ You know I think about us. The three of us. About what what we could be.  _

“June.”

_ I think about it all the time.  _

Nick’s hands are on my arms, squeezing, holding me together like he used to do. He sinks to the floor with me, pulls me against him. Kisses my hair. 

_ Well stop. _


	3. Expansion

“People who come together in a time of crisis tend to not stay together once life goes back to normal.”

I’m back with Sue. Handmaids therapy. Today we’re in a group.

“Think about positive relationships you made while you were living in Gilead. What was their basis? What was holding them together?”

Sue is nice. She has good intentions. I try to do what she says.

I think of Alma and Janine, hoping that they’re still alive. What were our relationships based on? With Alma, it was information. With Janine, I wanted to protect her. I tried to keep her safe from herself.

“We shared trauma,” one girl said. I couldn't remember her name, how ironic is that? “All the handmaid’s. We could joke about the ceremony and it made it seem less terrible,”

Everyone nods. I think of Janine saying _Just the ceremony! No blowjobs!_

“June?” She says when the group circles around to me. “Would you like share? Is there someone you met in Gilead?”

All eyes turn to me.

How do you say _Yeah Sue, he slept on my couch last night_?

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

He doesn’t need to sleep on our couch. He has an apartment downtown in another part of Little America. He has a mechanic’s license and a full time job at a garage below a pizza place.

But sometimes he stays.

“You ready, Holly?”

I hold her hands tight, but I’ll have to let go soon. I walk with her for a few shaky steps.

“You can let her go.”  Nick is on the other side of the room, waiting for her. “I’ll catch her.”

Of course he will. He’s a vigilante and attentive parent, but doesn’t quite have the fear I do. The fear born from having your child taken out of your arms. At least Nick would never have to see that.

I let go.

Her first few steps are hesitant. By the time she makes it to Nick, she’s running.

He swings her up, kisses her face. I’m treated to his full, real smile.

“I think she’s going to be a runner, what do you think?” He asks.

I think he’s her father. I think we’re a family.

What do you do when you have two families?

Sometimes Luke leaves while he’s here. Goes to the store, checks in at the refugee center. It’s never angry, just, _see you later._

Sometimes they sit on the couch and watch hockey. It varies.

Either way I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin.

“You’ll get used to it,” Moira says one day. It probably sounds like she said it in a mean way, but it wasn’t. Who has the strength to be mean these days?

She only says it once. I probably gave her a look. One day when we were fighting she called it the _I was in Gilead longer than you_ look. We stopped fighting after that.

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

One Wednesday, Nick offers to pick Hannah up from school. All of us have work, and none of us can afford to not work. Luke calls me nervously a few times. Then I get nervous, imagining things that couldn’t possibly be true.

When we come home, Nick and Hannah are playing Mario Kart on Luke’s secondhand Gamecube. Hannah runs to us and gives us a hug before sitting back down to the game.

Nick is sitting cross-legged on the floor. He lifts the controller towards me. “Want a turn?”

I laugh. I take a turn. All of us sit on the floor and play for hours. We let Hannah win, mostly. Moira comes home with Holly and a pizza in tow and we make a night of it. How many families can you count?

“She’s getting so big,” Nick says by the door, while saying goodbye to Holly. “Do you think she’ll start talking soon?”

I smile. “I think she will.”

Nick beams, and my insides storm. He kisses her on the forehead and hands her to me. Our arms brush, just so. Nick leans one arm against the doorframe, sighing. Holly’s already asleep.

“I want to ask you out,” he says, laughing at himself.

I smile. “We did this all out of order, didn’t we?”

His answering smile humors me, but it’s sad. I look down at our feet. He still wears heavy work boots.

“How did you get Hannah and I out, Nick?” I ask the question that had been burning on my tongue for months.

His smile disappears.

“I told Mayday I would kill Waterford if they helped me save you and Hannah.” His eyes are hard. “They thought it was a pretty even trade.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

I see Sue alone one day. I say it out loud this time.

“What do you do when you have two families?”

Her brow furrows; she sets her pen down. I tell her the story, but how can anyone be trained to deal with this?

When I’m done talking, she takes a few moments to collect her thoughts. I cross and re-cross my legs. I look at the clock. Time passes much quicker here, when you’re safe.

“Something for you to think about,” She starts. “What do you want? I think you need to start there. You spent years thinking of other people, especially your daughter while you were pregnant with her. If you are to recover and live with your trauma, you have to start with you.”

What do I _want_?

“I want… for everyone to be safe.”

She tilts her head to the side. Her haircut reminds me of my Mother’s.

“Everyone is safe, June. Compared to where you were before.”

“I want…” I can’t finish the sentence.

Sue nods.

“Think about it.”

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

I love Luke. I love my husband. He is the man who swept me off my feet. The man who made me believe in love.

He’s a man who doesn’t know me anymore.

His mouth his hard while the lawyer sets paper after paper in front of us. The documents that cemented our marriage were destroyed in Gilead, so they must remake those first before they can finalize the divorce. I sign on every dotted line, initial every margin. Nick’s defense attorney represents both Luke and I; apparently American lawyers have to be full service these days.

I insist on completely shared custody for Hannah, knowing it will be harder but my heart can’t take anything less for Luke. I won’t let her lose her day-to-day life with her father.

He gives me the apartment, finding a smaller place in a new building. I help him move.

I kiss him by the window of his new apartment. He runs his fingers through my hair and slips his tongue into my mouth.

Is it over? I couldn’t say.

_People who come together in a time of crisis tend to not stay together once life goes back to normal._

Luke and I were separated in a time of crisis. Somehow, it’s just as bad.

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

A lot of things change, but a lot stays the same.

Moira moves out, finding a new space with a woman she met at work.

Sometimes, Nick and Luke still watch Hockey together.

Nick still picks Hannah up from school on Wednesdays. Some weeks, he brings them both back to the first apartment and stays until I get home. Other weeks, he brings Hannah to Luke’s and watches Holly alone. A routine is good, the child therapist had said.

_Make sure the adults in Hannah’s life are the reliable kind._

Who’s more reliable than the guy that can get you out of Gilead?

On my Wednesdays, Nick stays for dinner. Unlike Luke, he can’t cook for shit. He brings take-out a lot and keeps it in the fridge until I get home. Reheats it when he knows I’m on my way.

“You shouldn’t have to do it all alone,” he says.

Sometimes he brings Holly to Luke as well. Two families. Two fathers. I don’t ever have to do it all alone.

“I might be able to get a raise, from the garage,” he says one night while I wash dishes. He dries. “I’ll be able to help out more.”

I wait tables at a nice restaurant downtown. A far cry from the career I left behind, but I get daytime shifts mostly and can take care of my girls. Sometimes customers whisper when they think I can’t hear, disagreements about refugees.

Nick has a license that says he can work on cars. Why do the jobs given to women never require licenses?

“You help out,” I say, “Just by being here, you help.”

It’s the first time I’ve acknowledged that we are two people who know each other beyond our daughter.

When I look at him, he watches me, the towel hanging from his hands.

“Do you–” He starts. He looks down, sighs. “Did you?”

I drop the dish I’m holding into the soapy water. It makes a splash, wetting my socks.

“Did I what?”

He touches my arm. He used to always touch my arms, hold me together, try to press the pieces of me back into shape when I couldn’t do it for myself.

“Did you love me? Back then?” His voice breaks on the last word. His hand doesn’t move from my arm.

I swallow a hard lump in my throat. We had moved closer together. His hip grazes mine. My fingers lace between his.

 _I love you still_.

“I should go check on Holly,” I say.

He exhales. His breath hits my neck.

“Ok. I should be heading out. Can I help you put her to bed?”

He should already know the answer to both questions.

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

There’s another Wednesday, but a different one. It’s Nick’s day to take Holly and Hannah to Luke’s place, and my day to be lonely in the apartment.

There’s a knock at my door. I answer in sweat pants and one of Moira’s #Resist T-Shirts.

Nick stands in the doorway, late February snow still in his hair. I smile, and move aside so he can step over the threshold.

“I’m glad you came over!” I say, all cheer.

 _I love you_. I say it to myself all the time. In the shower, at work, in the car.

The door closes with a click. He holds up a bag with something rectangular inside.

“I thought we could watch a movie.”

We sit on the couch, keeping to our sides. It doesn’t last long. Despite his temperament in Gilead, Nick is a tactile person. A touch to my shoulder when something funny happens in the movie. The press of the side of his leg against mine.

_I love you, Nick._

He has a good sense of humor, I find, and good taste in movies. Our Wednesdays become a habit. We keep to our sides less and less. Sometimes his arm find its way across the back of the couch, and then settles on my shoulder. Sometimes that same arm pulls me close to him, gently, and I tuck my feet up onto the couch, letting him.

One night I turn the TV off before the movie is over. He looks at me, eyebrows raised in a question.

“I want to kiss you,” I say, the words sticking in my throat but making it out alive and intact.

He smiles. He has a hand on my face; his thumb strokes the area under my eye. Seems like there used to always be tears there, before.

“What’s stopping you?” He asks.

I shift a little, moving closer to him. “I want to make sure you want that too.”

He laughs. Our noses are close to touching. Such funny things, noses.

_Of course I love you._

I look up at him.

I never said I was brave.

“Did you really love me, before?” I ask.

His eyes turn serious. He backs away.

“You know I did.”

“I know you said it.” I fidget. “I just want to make sure you don’t feel… like there’s a sense of obligation there.”

He sighs, brows knit together. “Obligation?”

 _I'm trying to keep you alive._ _  
_ _You and our baby._

I stand, not able to take his hands on my arms anymore. “Now that we’re out of there. You saved me. You’re an amazing father to Holly. I don’t want you to think that–  that you– that you’re obligated to me.”

 _I'm helping you._ _  
_ _I am risking my life to help you._

He looks down at his hands. “Are you obligated to me?”

I turn, hands on my hips. “What? No! I’m asking _you_.”

“Why not? I can be obligated to you but you can’t be obligated to me?”

“Can we stop saying obligated?”

I wish we could go back to where he was smiling and we were talking about kissing each other. I turn away, folding my arms.

_You're being so fucking stubborn._

I hear him sigh again, and the sounds of him standing and getting his jacket.

He stops near the door.

“I want to be with you, June.” My name from his mouth is static to me; it makes me want to cling to him. “It can’t work if you don’t trust me.”

The door clicks softly when he leaves.

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

We see each other a lot, in the coming weeks. He comes to see Holly everyday. We don’t talk about that night.

“No!” She shouts one night when I try to feed her mashed peas, even though they’re her favorite.

She shouts it again and knocks the spoon out of Nick’s hand when he tries. “No.”

We realize it together.

“Oh my God,” I say, laughing. “Is that really going to be her first word?”

“Better call Mayday,” Nick says, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Looks like we have a revolutionary on our hands.”

I laugh, disbelieving that we could ever have jokes about that, but here we are.

Her second word is ‘Mama.’ Her third word is ‘Nick.’

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

There comes a week when I’m about to run short on the rent bill. Not even with the money Luke gives me and the stipend the American government gives all its former citizens can I cover it. I pick up an extra night shift and call Nick.

“Will you watch Holly tonight? Hannah’s with Luke but I don’t want Holly to spend an extra night away.”

“Of course.”

I can tell he hates it when I called it ‘watching’ Holly. I know he wants to be more than a babysitter. But what else can I call it? We don’t live together. We won’t even answer each other’s questions.

I work until closing, waiting until the manager divides up the tips for the night and hands me the cash that I can deposit in the morning for the rent check.

I go home. One last snow swirls through the air. I remember the day I went into false labor with Holly. There had been a snowstorm the night before. Nick had helped me down from the ambulance, the ice his excuse for his hand on my back.  He he had held my hand and in that moment we were a family.

When I key into the apartment, the living room and kitchen are dim. I walk to the nursery, finding Nick leaning over Holly’s crib.

“Hey,” I saw, trying not to startle him.

He turns around and smiles. “Hey. She just went down.”

I lean over the crib with him. Holly sleeps with her arms above her head, curled in loose fists.

“How was she?” I whisper, smoothing her dark curls away from her forehead.

“Good,” he says, “I chased her around while she played with that pretend vacuum you got her.”

“Oh my God.” I laugh at the image. “Did you take videos?”

He nods, smiling.

“Can’t wait to see those.”

We watch her together, the slow rise and fall of her breathing. She had grown significantly in the last few months, already surpassing the average height for a 13-month old.

My legs start to ache, so I stand up, stretching my arms above my head.

“You ok?” Nick asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I went from sitting on my ass all day in Gilead to working ten hour shifts here.”

He laughs under his breath and gestures to the hallway, and we walk out of Holly’s room, keeping the door cracked behind us.

“Thank you for coming over tonight,” I say. Time to trust him, even with the hard stuff. “I needed to get the extra shift for rent.”

He crosses his arms. “You should’ve told me. I would have helped you.”

I smile. “I know you would have.”

He shakes his head, leaning against the wall. The hallway is narrow. I touch his arm, lift his hand until I can hold it in mine.

“You’re tired,” he says, half of the battle already out of his voice.

“Don’t tell me I’m tired,” I whisper.

He inhales deeply, lacing our fingers together carefully. I know he’s waiting.

“I trust you, Nick. I trust that you love me. And Holly.”

I see a muscle jump in his jaw. He strokes the side of my hand with his thumb. I imagine it against the red of my old Handmaid’s sweatshirt, when Holly first began to grow.

_It’s terrible._

_Not, it’s not._

I lean against him this time, and he holds me. It’s been a long time coming, and I bury my face against his chest, breathing deep. His lips brush my forehead. I speak the words into the skin between his shoulder and neck.

“I love you.”

His hands encircle my face and our eyes meet. His are wet, disbelieving. I have to be bold. I have to trust him.

“I love you.”

I let the air take the words, setting them free to fill all the spaces between us.

*  
*  
*  
*  
*

I will admit, he still says those three words more than I do, that night.

He crowds me against the wall and says them into my mouth. He holds my hands above my head and kisses me until I’m breathless, until my body is one nerve, long and exposed and feeling. I free my hands and touch him then, running them over his chest and saying the words again while he kisses my neck.

He says them while he’s inside of me, hitching my knee up to open myself to him. We make love slowly, unhurried, two people who belong only to each other. After he comes, he puts his mouth on me and brings me to the point of trembling. I come while holding his hair, and he whispers the words against the skin of my thigh.

He holds me after, wrapping me in his arms and sliding one leg between mine, as if he could anchor us to Earth. I kiss the palm of his hand and whisper the words there. Everytime I say them he shivers and pulls me closer. I can feel his smile against the back of my neck.

Holly wakes up in the middle of the night. I get up first, rocking her until she stops crying. He joins me in her room, stooping down beside the rocking chair.

“What’s the matter, Holly-girl?” He asks, kissing her cheek.

She isn’t crying now. She reaches for the stretched-out collar of his T-shirt, playing with a tiny hole in it.

“Dada,” she babbles.

Nick smiles. I let him take her from me and he lifts her high above his head.

“What was that, Holly?”

She doesn’t say it again, but but she smiles and laughs at the wild ride he’s giving her.

I sit back in my chair.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you, too,” He says back, holding our daughter close.

Now that I think about it, we might just be even.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for much for reading my little fic! Please remember to comment!
> 
> Come scream at me about The Handmaid's Tale tumblr: destielpasta.tumblr.com


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